


Reflections on an Earlier Life

by Small_Hobbit



Series: Sussex Retirement [2]
Category: Sherlock Holmes - Arthur Conan Doyle
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-07-20
Updated: 2015-07-29
Packaged: 2018-04-10 08:58:38
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 5
Words: 2,916
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4385744
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Small_Hobbit/pseuds/Small_Hobbit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Current events cause Watson to remember</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Maiwand

**Author's Note:**

> Written for various prompts on LJ's Older Not Dead "Love & Hate" promtathon

Readers will be aware I have had occasion to mention Holmes descending into a brown study, but I have never spoken of my own fits of depression. Over times Holmes has come to anticipate such spells and while he is unable to prevent them he will do what he can to alleviate them.

Such a time was upon me again. The weather, which had been fair for the last week, had turned and the rain was now coming down in buckets. I could not spend my afternoons out in the garden as I was becoming accustomed and my leg was hurting such that even if the rain should lessen walking any distance would be too painful.

On these occasions, even at so great a distance in time and location, being confined and in pain, my mind inevitably took me back to Maiwand. It was wrong to dwell on what might have been, but the loss of so many youthful hopes (and not just mine), still brought sadness. In vain I reminded myself had circumstances been different I would never have met Holmes. But still I was weighed down by loss.

On top of those sadnesses, I was worried my new flowers, so recently planted, would be broken by the rain and the garden would return to the waste area it had been on our arrival.

It is at such times, as I have said, Holmes seeks to bring renewed hope to my life. I was sitting mournfully in the parlour when he appeared. In one hand he held a cup of tea. And in the other was a vase with a single bright yellow marigold – a sure sign all had not been destroyed.


	2. War

The following day the rain had lightened to a gentle drizzle. My leg had eased slightly and I was determined to walk in the garden in the afternoon. Holmes was equally determined I should not venture out without my strong stick in one hand and his support on the other, for the paths were slippery and he had no wish I should fall. We had reached an impasse over lunch, for I was intent on maintaining my independence.

I was preparing to renew my assault after lunch when there was a knock at the door. Holmes answered it and I could hear him saying “I’m afraid the doctor will not be able to come out this afternoon.”

My heart sank at the loss of potential company. Holmes had been doing his best to entertain me, but I tried not to keep him from his bees and his other pursuits for too long.

But then Holmes added, “However, if you would like to come in I am sure he would be delighted to spend the afternoon in your company.”

I looked up expectantly and smiled at Seth who Holmes was ushering into the parlour. Seth looked uncertain – he and I generally sat in the kitchen – so I indicated a chair. He sat down, but maintained an uncomfortable formal position.

“Excellent,” Holmes said. “I am sure you two gentlemen will find plenty to talk about. You will excuse me as I have my own tasks to perform. I shall return later to make us all some tea.”

War being uppermost in my mind at that time, I started to talk about it. Seth relaxed back in his chair as we discussed the Afghan campaign. Although we had not served together, we both knew many of the same locations.

He was remarkably accepting of the loss of his arm. He had returned home, and married his childhood sweetheart. He had been convinced she would not look at him twice once he was injured, but it had not bothered her. Seth joked it must have been the small pension he had been allotted which attracted her and we both laughed; the pension would never bridge the gap between the earnings he would make and what he could have earned as an able-bodied man.

But Seth remained positive. He had made it home and many of his comrades had not – either killed on the battlefield or died subsequently of their injuries. He had found work when many were reduced to poverty and begging.

I was starting to feel ashamed of my own black humour, for I had fared much better than my companion, when he said, “Yet, doctor, there are still days when I wish I had both my arms and could do more. Do you think that is wrong of me?”

“No, I said, “Not wrong at all.”


	3. Marriage

Once Holmes had returned and we had all drunk tea, Seth said, “My daughter would like to invite you to tea at our cottage on Sunday. Please don’t feel obliged to come, but we would be honoured if you would join us. Oh, and Mr Holmes as well, of course, if he would like to come.”

A quick glance at Holmes confirmed to me he would prefer not to go, but I was delighted to receive the invitation and said so. I assured Holmes I would be capable of walking down to the village. He looked dubious, so we agreed if I did not reach Seth’s cottage by three o’clock a dogcart would be sent for me. (We had an account with the haulier in the village.) I was about to tell Holmes I could therefore be responsible for my own return when Seth announced his daughter would request the dogcart should she have any concerns and therefore Holmes should not worry on that score. Holmes confirmed he had met Ellen and he was confident in her abilities. I sensed there was no point in trying to argue.

The afternoon in question was fair and I enjoyed a leisurely walk to the village. I was greeted warmly by both Seth and Ellen and shown round the garden, which was a testament to Seth’s care. He pointed out various flowers and bushes and reminisced as he did so. He must have noticed I was unusually quiet, because he stopped and said, “Is everything all right, doctor?”

“Yes,” I replied. “My wife and I were not fortunate to share many years together.”

“I am so sorry. I shall stop my chatter at once.”

“Please don’t. I’m used to the loss. It is not even sorrow any more, just a pang of what might have been.”

Seth nodded. “I understand.”

He continued his tour of the garden, only now he paused at times, letting me enjoy my own briefer moments.

When we went back into the cottage we were greeted by Seth’s grandsons, William and Arthur. The warmth of their greeting was genuine, but I sensed they were also pleased it would not be long before we could eat. Ellen must have spent all the previous day baking, so it was no wonder the lads were keen to start.

Once we all had plates full of sandwiches and cups full of tea, Arthur, the younger of the two boys, turned to me and said, “Is it true you met your wife because she came to see Mr Holmes about the disappearance of her father?”

“Indeed it is,” I replied with a smile.

“Could you tell us the story yourself, please?” Arthur said hopefully.

Seth stretched out his hand to his grandson. “Dr Watson might not wish to relive the times again,” he said.

“No, I would be delighted to,” I said. “If you are prepared to indulge an old man sharing his memories.”

“We do that all the time with Grandad,” William muttered. His mother glared at him and I laughed.

“In which case,” I said, “let me begin. Our landlady, Mrs Hudson, brought in a visiting card on her salver...”


	4. The Betting Man

Throughout my life I have been a betting man and I was pleased to find there were still opportunities for this now we had retired. I dressed with care and descended the stairs to find Holmes waiting for me. He quirked an eyebrow at my attire, which was more formal than his own.

“I have a position to maintain,” I said, in response to his look. “It is not every day one has the chance to be Honorary Medical Officer for the Village Donkey Derby.”

He chuckled and we went outside to wait for the dogcart. I was no longer having problems with my leg, but since I needed my medical bag it made sense to have a lift.

Holmes has always maintained there is a science to gambling and on the rare occasion when he does place a bet he will normally do better than I. However, calculating the odds at a donkey derby is not quite as simple. One has to assess the abilities of the donkeys, which will be participating in more than one race and their performance may improve or worsen over the afternoon. Then there is the question of the young jockeys, not only how fast they can persuade their donkey to race, but also whether they will stay in the saddle.

The first race is therefore a complete lottery and Holmes refused to participate. My donkey was second, so I at least did not lose my stake. The second race was determined by sibling rivalry. Holmes had not yet had the chance to learn much of the village gossip and therefore to discover Jake Young was not going to be beaten by his younger brother, despite the abilities of their respective donkeys. We both lost our money.

The third race was for jockeys of the future and on lead rope. The winner was always going to be the person who could run fast with a donkey and without letting the rider fall off. Seth’s grandson William was triumphant, leading his small cousin. I was delighted on two counts: William is a hard-working young man who deserved the victory and since I had backed him I was now financially ahead. Holmes, who does not allow personal preferences to influence his betting, had lost once again.

I do not remember the result of the fourth race. It was memorable because Bert Daley was seen to lay his bet on one boy, when his own son was in the race. Of course this happens, but on this occasion the child he was betting on bore a certain resemblance to Daley and there were already questions as to who his real father was. The race was run whilst I was dealing with some of the after effects of the punch-up which had ensued and I was unable to place my own bet in time.

The outcome of the fifth race was determined by two boys both out to impress the same girl. As the winner triumphantly passed the line he turned back to see his rival lying on the ground and the girl in question running over to see if he was badly hurt. The boy did not seem injured and rose to his feet, helped by the young lady. At which point the question was raised as to whether he had deliberately thrown the race by choosing to fall off. A stewards’ enquiry was called for. This caused a further problem as one steward was the winner’s father, the other the faller’s grandfather. I was therefore called upon to act as impartial witness.

Since the donkey I had backed had come in third I had no financial interest in the case. Betting had been about equal on both boys, so I declared the result should stand. Holmes was not impressed. He had reasoned the faller had been the one most determined to win. I pointed out he had indeed won the girl, just not the race.

The final race was won by a donkey which had performed in a mediocre fashion all afternoon. It had obviously realised this was the last race for it failed to stop as it went past the winning line and continued down the field, despite the efforts of its small jockey to stop it. From there it headed down the lane towards the field it lived in, as various bystanders shouted helpfully to its rider to ‘hang on’.

With the races over my role as medical officer came to an end. I had not been taxed in that role. Apart from those involved in the brawl, I had dealt with a few bumps and bruises received by fallen riders, and a case of nettle rash on a toddler who had fallen into a clump of nettles. As an official I was invited to attend the tea which followed. I found Holmes and we strolled over to the tea tent together.

As we walked we discussed the outcome of the races and Holmes revealed he had finished with a loss. It appeared there are more variables in a donkey derby than he had provided for. I had made a profit, thanks to William’s win, and therefore felt entitled to be smug.

On our return to our cottage later that evening I had cause to reflect that, although I had spent many days gambling over the years, this was one of the most enjoyable times betting I had had.


	5. Misunderstandings, mismatches and secrets badly kept

The Monday following the donkey derby the rain returned, but for once I was resigned to the inclement weather. In addition, the early post had brought a letter from Mycroft who had been to a concert which included Stravinsky’s Firebird Suite. Holmes read the letter out loud, emphasising the critical comments with an accurate mimicry of his brother’s tones. It was clear Mycroft was not taken with M. Stravinsky.

It reminded me of an event which had occurred shortly after Holmes’ return. He had mentioned a concert featuring a certain violinist (I have fortunately forgotten the man’s name). I, in a fit of misplaced enthusiasm, had said how pleased I would be to attend the concert and Holmes had purchased two tickets. It was excruciating. Normally, when I accompanied Holmes to concerts, I would let my mind wander, whilst Holmes gave the music his full attention. Often I would begin to structure the next story I intended to publish, with the music as a background to my thoughts.

This time, as I began to retrace the steps of the story, I was dragged back to the music. I am not a musician and therefore cannot tell what the problem was, but I do know I did not enjoy it. Meanwhile, Holmes, who would usually lean forward in appreciation of the playing, was leaning back in his seat, as if trying to escape.

Finally, when the music had finished (it was not even a long concert, it just felt like an eternity) and we had escaped, I said to Holmes “I am so sorry this was not an enjoyable experience, Holmes. You must be disappointed.”

He replied, “My dear fellow, I am not disappointed. I only agreed to come because I thought you wished to hear the violinist.”

We looked at each other and started to laugh at the ridiculousness of the situation.

“Nevertheless,” Holmes continued, “the time was not entirely wasted. You remember that little problem Lestrade consulted us about last week?”

“Indeed. The scoundrel who was befriending widows and then stealing their jewellery. He took advantage of their recent bereavement and trusting nature by pretending to be in the same line of work as their deceased husband.”

“I believe I have spotted him. That concert was exactly the type of event he would use for a suitable excursion: serious, not flippant, entertainment. There was a man there whose trousers proclaimed him a clerk, but whose jacket should have been worn by an engineer. As we left the concert hall I spotted one of the irregulars hoping to earn tips by calling for cabs. I have set him to follow the man. I have high hopes we shall have his address by the end of the day.”

The memory of this event made me smile. I looked out of the window at the rain, which appeared to have set in for the day. Then I glanced across at my writing desk, which I had barely used since we moved to our cottage.

Holmes, of course, interpreted my thoughts before I had time to voice them. “You are thinking there are more cases yet to be told and wondering whether your publicist would be interested in hearing from you again. Which, since to my knowledge he has written to you at least twice in the last month, you can rest assured he would.”

“You are quite right, Holmes.”

“I am pleased to hear it. Not that I am right, for that was never in doubt, but that you are intending to write again. I know you had your fears about the move. You were afraid your memories would be left behind in Baker Street, once there was nothing familiar to bring them to mind. Yet these last few days it would appear you have found new outlets for sharing them and thus they continue to live.”

I recalled talking about the war with Seth, and sharing my meeting with Mary with his family, and even the opportunity to continue to practise my profession in a small way. I felt the tears running down my cheeks.

“Forgive me, I am growing into an old fool,” I said.

Holmes came over and put his arms around me. “You are still the same brave and caring Watson you have always been and I would not have you any other way.”

 


End file.
